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Illya Kuryakin was not going to groan. He hurt in more places than he cared to remember he could hurt, and he didn't have the faintest idea where Napoleon Solo was. It didn't matter. Whether or not he lived or died T.H.R.U.S.H. was not going to succeed at its plan. He had stopped their plan right here. It would go no further. Illya considered taking a deep breath. If he lay where he was for much longer it would be the quickest way out of the situation he found himself in. The air was filling with toxic fumes. Illya could lie where he was and die, find the strength to stand, or pray for a miracle. Illya tried to find the strength to stand. In spite of having promised himself he wouldn't groan, something suspiciously like a sound of pain escaped his lips as his knees once again hit the floor. It was just possible it might be time to seriously consider the question of whether or not there was a God to pray for a miracle from.
Napoleon moved cautiously through the facility. It seemed as if it had already been evacuated, but with THRUSH appearances could be deceiving. As he was progressing steadily deeper he heard it--the soft sound of someone in pain. Napoleon could have guessed who the sound was from, who THRUSH could've left in the building to die, but he didn't have to guess. Napoleon recognized the sound as one that had escaped from Illya's lips. Napoleon abandoned his careful exploration and raced in the direction of the sound. What he found there was a locked door with some kind of noxious gas leaking out under it. How much of those fumes could he breathe? How many had Illya already breathed? What if the gas was flammable? There wasn't enough time to consider all the variables. Napoleon shot the lock on the door and waded into the deadly gas lying thick over the floor in the room.
Illya heard the shot, but drifting on the edge of unconsciousness he couldn't be certain how close it had been. It certainly wasn't at him. THRUSH had already chosen how they wanted him to die. It was much easier to recognize when someone walked into him. Their shoes connected roughly with his ribs and another sound of pain escaped him. It didn't seem like they'd intentionally kicked him. Maybe they hadn't seen him through the gas, whoever they were. Napoleon froze as soon as his feet connected with Illya's prone body. There had been another sound. His partner wasn't dead yet. Napoleon bent down into the thick cloud, getting a hold of Illya as best he could and pulling. While his injured partner could do nothing to help in his rescue he also wasn't a hindrance. Illya was so close to a dead weight in his hands. Napoleon dragged him into the hall, and shut the door as best he could behind them.
Illya's lungs painfully dragged in the cleaner air of the hall. It was helping. He couldn't stand on his own, but his ability to think was returning. Illya wheezed raggedly, "Jacket... door... block... gas."
Napoleon heard the words, quickly removing his jacket. He stuffed it along the bottom of the door. It might hold back the gas. Napoleon watched it nervously. The coat seemed to be holding. Once Napoleon had the door blocked he took a better look at his partner. Illya looked as if THRUSH had made a thorough effort to break every bone in his body. Napoleon could only hope they'd been driven off before they'd gotten what they wanted. He knelt down and asked softly, "Can you stand?"
Illya managed a weak shake of his head, "No... things... broken."
Napoleon hushed him with a soft kiss pressed to bruised lips. He breathed to him, "I'll get us out."